With a Little Help from Flowers
by timeywimeycakes
Summary: When an important part of the TARDIS breaks, the Doctor and Rose head off to get it fixed and have a vacation in the meantime. However, some force is stirring up some... uncomfortable... desires in the duo, resulting in tension, jealousy, and some serious physical contact. They try to maintain composure, but the battle against temptation is a hard one to win. SMUT, LEMON, SEMI-PWP.
1. Prologue

Hello there, and welcome to the prologue of With a Little Help from Flowers!

This is my first foray into the world of writing adult fanfiction. Okay, basically writing any fanfiction-but I really like smut!. My writing (I am an English major at a prominent university in Canada) is not typically of a sexual nature, so I greatly appreciate comments and advice.

This story may start out a little slow for smut-lovers-it's somewhere between PWP and a very developed story, just the way I prefer it!

Disclaimer: If I owned Doctor Who, I wouldn't need to write Fanfiction. Rose and Ten would just bang all the time.

The cloister bell rang.

For the 24th time that week, the cloister bell rang.

Its rushed, desperate, 4-note clanging noise echoed mercilessly throughout the TARDIS, worrying one of the blue box's inhabitants but just plain annoying the other.

Rose Tyler grabbed the cushion next to her from the couch on which she glumly sat, shoved it into her face, and groaned. "JMFT UMGR UT," pled her muffled voice from behind its fluffy captor. The Doctor didn't need to hear her clearly to know what she said. "TRM UT URFF."

"I _can't_ just ignore it," he called to her from the control room. "Nor will I turn it off. It's the cloister bell. Something's wrong."

That's how it was supposed to work, anyway. The cloister bell—the TARDIS equivalent of a fire alarm—was supposed to ring whenever there was horrible danger afoot for the TARDIS or its inhabitants. Lately, though, it seemed to ring at least 3 times a day for no apparent reason other than to drive Rose mad.

"Nothing was wrong the last million times," Rose chastised with a deep breath, putting the cushion where it belonged and flopping backwards on the couch with another groan. "The only thing that's got anything wrong is your bell. Get it fixed. Please, PLEASE get it fixed."

"I'm fixing it!" the Doctor reminded her, calling probably more loudly than needed. His voice came from a compartment of the TARDIS's circular control panel under which the he usually lay to rip apart random wires and throw them against other ones or whatever it was he did to fix things when something went wrong.

The "Fix-It Station," which Rose affectionately called it, was a station that, in Rose's opinion, the Doctor had been spending entirely too much time in lately. About 4 hours a day of too much time. And each of those 4 hours, he let the cloister bell ring. Could he override it manually? Of course. Just plain turn it off? Yes sir. But he chose not to, despite Rose's protests. He didn't want to turn it off just in case, on the off chance, there was something hugely wrong. Sound reasoning, of course; they were in space, and anything could happen. But Rose was not thinking about potential emergencies; rather, she was mentally tallying the numerous ways she could stop the ringing herself. Most of those ways involved an axe or similarly destructive object, began with a maniacal and violent sense of noise-oriented vengeance, and ended with her being disallowed from ever setting foot in the TARDIS again. She reluctantly stood up and headed through the large, domelike doorway into the control room where the Doctor was under the table, obscured from Rose's vision but presumably fiddling with various funny-looking objects.

"This is impossible," the Doctor observed aloud. For all his good points—his boundless genius, his optimism, his generosity, his elegantly-disheveled hair, his intense brown eyes, his…various other things—there were a few parts of the Doctor that Rose found supremely frustrating. One of them was his perpetual state of disbelief.

How he was utterly convinced so many things were impossible, Rose would never know: he was a time-and-space traveler who moonlighted as a hired genius. He'd saved races from extinction, he'd destroyed interplanetary villain masterminds in less time than it took Rose to write an exam, and he'd even found a way to wear an all-blue suit without looking like a grossly out-of-touch father visiting his daughter's school dance. But despite all this, he still insisted the universe consisted of impossibilities. Granted, the Doctor's "What?-It-Can't-Be!-That's-Impossibles" were usually reserved for more unprecedented matters—the Daleks returning, for example (although perhaps that was now with a few precedents), or the discovery of a planet that lacked in any sort of gummy candy—but Rose never expected him to be quite as shocked over what she chalked up to be roughly the same as a faulty car engine light (okay, perhaps SLIGHTLY more potentially deadly, but all Rose's attempts to be fair and reasonable went out the window after the 4th instance in the week of that infernal NOISE.) How could so great a mind be so utterly boggled that something that happened over a dozen times in a week still be happening?

Rose leaned against the wall, biting the inside of her cheek, and watched the control table with crossed arms. "Nothing appears to be wrong," he said, pulling himself out from under the control panel and pushing his time-to-be-smart glasses back up the bridge of his nose. Once more, he looked over the TARDIS's readings. "The engine is fine. The TARDIS is stable. There's no oncoming asteroids or anything. Power is fine, speed is fine, oxygen levels are fine, Main Logic Junction is—"

"Fine," continued Rose sharply, glaring daggers through the Doctor's head. "Stability is fine, steering is fine, N67G is fine, we're fine. Everything is fine, yeah?" She wasn't even really sure what an N67G was, but it was fine the last hundred times the Doctor said his list aloud.

"Let me reiterate for you, Doctor: the only thing that's not completely how it's supposed to be on this ship, apart from my very shortened temper and your questionably thick skull, is that cloister bell of yours. Now stop being a typical, stubborn, stupid ape of a man and **get it fixed**." She repeated the order through gritted teeth, tapping her foot impatiently. The cloister bell rang in tandem.

"I'm fixing it," seethed the Doctor. He smacked his hands against the cool metal of the control panel and looked up at Rose. His brow was furrowed and his eyes seemed to burn in the corners, as they usually did in childlike indignation whenever someone questioned his ability to do—well, anything, or worse, implied he was typical. Their gaze lingered for only a couple of seconds before his eyes flicked back to the readings, and his eyes softened to a grim concern. Rose could swear the TARDIS was getting more affection lately than she was.

"No, get it fixed. As in, have someone else fix it for you. As in, all your gadgets and gizmos and genius know-how aren't working, Doctor," Rose shot back. The Doctor clicked his tongue.

"That's bloody stupid, Rose; of course this is working—will work! This will work and don't you question me when you don't know the first part of how to—PARTS!"

"Parts," Rose repeated back to him. She sensed a tangent coming.

"Parts, parts, parts," the Doctor whispered to himself, walking in small circles with his finger to his lip. There was that tangent. "Parts of the cloister bell. Cast metal resonator, Main Logic Junction, clapper, destabilization detector, IDTT-inference reader, crish-crashy-warnybob, Auxitian-built pressure re—Ah-HA!" He smacked the circular table again, smile booming, then rubbed the table in tender circles. "There, there, girl; we'll get you fixed."

"What?" Rose snapped impatiently. The Doctor bounded around the table, flipping switches and pressing buttons until the cloister bell's caterwauling ceased. "Well, what?"

"It just needs a new part," explained the doctor, beaming proudly and leaning against the wall of the TARDIS, giving another affectionate rub. His grin, which Rose could only describe as "shit-eating," was something she was damn ready to wipe off his face by force of hand or flamethrower.

"It took you THAT long to figure out that something BROKEN needed something to be REPLACED? Aren't you a genius? Are you MAD? I could have told you that. I could have. In fact, I did. I DID tell you that, Doctor."

"Well, it's not that simple," the Doctor said plainly with a very persistent grin. "Normally, she doesn't need new parts. Built quite a bit of this ship myself, you know; modified quite a bit of the rest. And I have an extensive collection of extra parts in her utility room and workshop. One of the few parts on this ship I didn't make or change was the Auxitian-built pressure relay. I've modified most of the ship to be comparably self-sustaining, but the relay must be more prone to wear-and-tear—and though it looks fine, something could be wrong with the sensor, which can lead to inactivity, or in our case, overactivity."

"Auxitian-built pressure relay," Rose echoed monotonously. "And what's that?"

"Well, it's a pressure relay. Built by Auxitians." He looked at her like she was a stupid ape, but at least the grin was gone.

"Yes, thank you for that, Doctor. What does it DO?"

"Ah! Yes! Well, in simple terms, if the IDTT-inference reader infers there is or may be Immediate Danger To TARDIS, the crish-crashy-warnybob, which is made of a stretchy sort of rubberlike polymer, swells. The higher the presumed danger, the more it swells. The pressure relay converts the amount of pressure with which the warnybob is stretched to a specific strength. With that strength, it moves the clapper. If the clapper moves enough, it hits the resonator, at which point the cloister bell is programmed to repeat those actions over and over until something's done about the immediate danger. There are about 23 more parts for the cloister bell, but those are the major ones."

Rose was silent. Normally she'd incur some form of further conversation at this point, but after receiving the explanation, she relished the silence. It was welcome. Relieving. Good for her headache.

Turning sharply on her heel and without another word, Rose headed back to the couch, fully intent on a well-deserved nap.

The Doctor seemed unaffected by this, smiling up at the roof of his TARDIS, taking Rose's dismissal as though it meant 'please, oh please, Doctor, tell me where we're going!'

"To Auxitia!" the Doctor answered the silence, bounding around the control panel yet again in an enthusiastic dance rivalled only by that of a kid in a candy store with a whole lot of money.

Rose smiled face-down into the couch. For all his rough points—his manly bullheadedness, his perpetual state of disbelief, his tendency to treat Rose like an idiot for suggesting he acquire assistance—there were a few things about the Doctor that Rose found absolutely lovable. One of those things was his excitement. And that wasn't just lovable; it was contagious.


	2. Chapter 1: Beach bum

Hey there, thanks for reading With a Little Help from Flowers! There's only a bit of UST in this first chapter, but it's coming full-force fairly soon...

Reviews and advice are greatly appreciated! -Timeywimeycakes

"Welcome to Auxitia," said the Doctor as he skipped out of the TARDIS not unlike a schoolboy out of the classroom for recess. "Beautiful city-state on the planet Tenn. Warm beaches; bright fields; cute, bunnylike creatures as far as the eye can see; and of course, a plethora of technological geniuses who can very easily build exactly what my lovey-lovely TARDIS needs."

Rose came out after him, walking slower and significantly less ecstatically than the Doctor, but nonetheless relieved. After being cooped up with an ever-clanging alarm for a week, she was damn ready to ease some stress. After all, she needed it: she'd been taking out her frustration with the bell on the Doctor during the entire fiasco, and whether he was being bullheaded or not, she did feel slightly guilty. A little vacation was just what she needed to soothe her nerves until she could give a proper apology.

A vacation was what he'd promised her, a vacation on the beach. He'd let her have her nap before telling her all about the place—despite his never-ending energy and penchant for rushing places, he was always very good about letting her rest—and, upon her waking, more or less assaulted her with a list of things she'd enjoy about the planet. She was sold based on the promise of the cloister bell stopping its infernal alarming, but might've arguably been more excited by the prospect of a beach. They'd been to quite a few beaches lately, but the appeal never quite died for the blonde city-girl.

Luckily, that's just where she and the Doctor landed. They were hidden away behind a few conveniently-obscuring trees, of course, but beyond the low-swung branches and bright purple, polka-dotted leaves (Rose never even bothered to question odd-looking interplanetary flora anymore) laid a beach with pristine white sand, crystal-clear water, and a foray of aliens of various shapes, sizes, and swimwear choices. The Doctor had explained before leaving that Auxitia was more or less a giant tourist attraction, and Rose was delighted to note that some of those tourists were particularly attractive male humanoids. (She didn't really know if their humanlike appearance extended to the, um, particularly _interesting_ parts of anatomy, but it wasn't like she was planning to sleep with a bunch of random aliens anyway.)

The Doctor, however, was less than pleased to make the same observation. Oh, sure, he was expecting it; he wasn't stupid. But expecting the planet would be riddled with horny, vacationing man-folk didn't make it any less annoying to have to rip Rose way from the inevitable herd of admirers that would be following her like lost puppies by the end of the trip. It wasn't that he was jealous—okay, he was jealous, but that wasn't the point—it was simply irksome to make the extra effort to get Rose back into the ship when she was sucking up attention like some sort of chipper, attention-sucking Bebetylian man-sponge. And there would be a lot of attention, with her dressed like that.

As Rose walked ahead of the Doctor, admiring the waves of the ocean before her, he stole a secret glance. She'd certainly gotten more daring with her wardrobe lately. Whether it was because she was trying or because she just no longer cared for modesty in the midst of more pressing matters, the Doctor both revered and cursed her decision to wear a bikini. It was deep red—'Oh, _come on!_'—and had some sort of twist-tubey-top-thing ("bandeau," Rose had called it—the Doctor simply didn't leave room in his brain for trivial information like clothing types) and the leg holes on the bottom had just enough of an inward curve to display those round little lines of under-bum cleavage that made the Doctor's breath hitch just a bit in his throat whenever he was lucky enough to see them.

…Which was slightly more frequent lately.

…Well, they had been to more beaches.

…Quite a few, in fact.

Were the beach visits relevant to the aforementioned bum-view? Of course not_! 'I had plenty of important things to do on those planets,'_ the Doctor reminded himself.

In the case of Mohre, he had been getting a very important supply of a particular fruit.

A fruit that was indigenous to about 23 planets in the massive Flor-Aura galaxy.

Only one of those planets had a beach, but that was just a coincidence.

And hey, the Doctor ate every single one of those Furplexy fruits! Sure, they might have tasted like an old foot with sugar on it, but they were worth it for the very important vitamins and minerals. _'Vitamins and minerals and pretty bum lines.' _

All Rose-Tyler's-bum-oriented denial aside, the part he needed was genuinely best retrieved on Auxitia. The beach thing was just the luck of the draw.

"Oi! We going somewhere?"

Rose's voice knocked the Doctor out of his stupor. He looked up to find her looking over her shoulder, staring at him intently with a look that mixed concern and impatience. "Well?"

"I'm going to get my part. You're going to the beach."

"And you're sure it's okay to leave me alone."

"I'm sure."

"No evil monsters?"

"Safe planet. Safe inhabitants. Worst you'll find is a few Bargonors. They look like giant noses and tend to float around insulting people."

"No civil wars I should know about?"

"Notoriously peaceful planet. Hasn't been a war since its civilization began; Tennants are a lovely mix of logical and polite. Auxitians are likely the most so."

"I won't have to run from some crazed alien murderer?"

"No running needed."

"And you'll be back when?"

"Give me about an hour."

"At which point we will…?"

"Shop. Tour around. Shop some more. Find a resort. Get massages from aliens who have more fingers than hairs on their heads. Grab dinner. Leave."

"You swear it's okay to leave me alone?"

"Yes, Rose."

_Rose._ Somehow, that always shut her up. Rose swallowed. The Doctor only ever seemed to use her name when he was absolutely serious: jokes rarely ended or began with "Rose"; saying her name just seemed to be his go-to way of communicating he was concerned. She trusted him. Rose gave her comrade a quick hug, nodded at him, then turned and ran towards the ocean, towel and book in hand.

The Doctor wasn't sure at what point in their relationship Rose stopped being okay—or desperate—to be left alone. When their journey had started, she was brave to the point of carelessness: between accidentally powering up a murderous Dalek and unleashing Reapers on the earth when she wrongfully tried to save her father's life, there had been times he'd considered dragging her around on a leash. At some point, though, that had changed: she hadn't lost her bravery, of course, but she was questionably careful. She asked him for advice before doing things more often and seemed concerned rather than relieved when he left her to her privacy on a new planet. He couldn't help but wonder if she was getting more scared of the world or simply wanted the companionship.

Either way, it was more of a source of mild wonder than it was a huge concern, so rather than stand in fruitless contemplation, the Doctor wandered off towards the industrial sector of Auxitia, where there were very many mechanical shops, but probably fewer pretty bums.

"Six hours," the Doctor repeated, staring glumly at the tiny, squeaky-voiced creature, whose skills were needed for the creation of a new pressure relay for the Doctor's bright blue time-ship. The Doctor was a smart man, a kind man, and dare he say it, a rather dashing man, but he was not an overly patient one. Even when waiting for the Auxitian to come to the desk when the entrance bell rang, the Doctor needed to idly entertain himself by touching a few pretty purple-and-yellow-speckled Tenn-native Futuorias that seemed to cringe towards him when he touched them.

"Six hours," the Auxitian (whose name, curiously, was Margaret—the Doctor would have to let Rose know later that Auxitians had many of the same names as humans, only the genders were reversed) repeated. "Those require much time to set. I'm sincerely sorry for the delay, sir." Margaret bowed his cone-shaped head and clasped his stubby fingers together in apology, as per Auxitian custom. The Doctor thanked Margaret for his time, promising to return when the part was finished, and left the shop.

Auxitia, for all its lovely beaches, interesting and innumerable plants, and clean air, had an incredibly bustling industrial sector. Businesses were in tall, generally thin buildings, cramped together in evenly-sized blocks with straight streets. The Doctor idly noted that there were few street lights but many vehicles of varying construction hovering peacefully along each other without so much as a frustrated beep, no doubt due to the notorious Auxitian politeness and excellent reflexes. The metal-laden streets reminded the Doctor of an Earth television show Rose watched as a child called the Jetsons. Though he wasn't overly fond of the show, he saw how it could appeal to Rose, and reminded himself to bring her back to the sector later.

As independent as the Doctor could be, six hours wandering about the city would be boring. Dreary. Desperately lacking in stolen peeks at Rose's bu—_it is not boring and dreary. Damnit, the world is full of wonders beyond Rose in a bikini._

He really wasn't sure at what point he started finding the world less interesting on his own accord. Sure, he'd still get overly excited about little inventions, meeting new races, saving people—but at some point in the last few months, everything seemed significantly less interesting when he couldn't show it to Rose.

_'Just out of habit, of course. I mean, I'm fond of her, but I'm just habitually seeking companionship.'_

The Doctor knew he was in denial, of course. Affection for Rose practically shot from his eyeballs like the lasers of an Askytian sharpskunk. Hell, even a questionably intuitive Dalek had made the observation. The words rung in the Doctor's ears: _"What use are emotions if you will not save the woman you love?" _

That had been a long time ago, of course, but it kept the Doctor on edge—bad things happened when he grew too attached to humans. Very bad things. It put them in danger. He couldn't bear for Rose to be in danger, and so his denial of his feelings was all he could do to keep himself from bringing her back home for good out of moral obligation. It would be very, very bad if he fell in love with her. Or had sex with her. Especially sex. Really, very extremely bad. It would be awful if he'd have sex with her, feel her nails dig into his back, leave possessive teeth marks on her neck, touch her- _'NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE NOPE.'_

The Doctor listed off the neurotransmitters associated with feelings of attraction in his head. "Chemicals. Just chemicals," he reminded himself, furthering his attempts to disallow acknowledgement of his attraction to Rose.

But with that, he went to go find her.

Rose, for all her stressful days of late, was having a blast.

Firstly, something about this planet made everyone extremely nice. Nice enough, in fact, that a squat, octopus-like creature gave out free ice cream to everyone just because.

Secondly, the sun was warm and the sky cloudless—perfect for getting a tan. _"For god's sake, Rose, stop tanning!"_ Rose's mum bellowed in her head. _"Put some SPF on ya! Your great aunt Kate almost died from melanoma, you know that, and all the doctors on the telly, they say-"_ "Well you aren't here, Mum, are you?" mused Rose as she settled onto her towel, soaking up the sun's eager rays.

Thirdly, the beach itself was beautiful—there were bright purple flowers everywhere, the kind that should grow in a lovingly-tended garden rather than a hot, sandy beach. The flowers dipped toward each other, almost like bowing before a traditional dance, and emitted a soft glow that could scarcely be seen against the strong sunlight.

Thirdly, boys. Sure, Rose's primary eye candy was the Doctor—he just looked so damn good with his blue suit and his mucked-up hair—but Rose was, and always had been, a little bit boy-crazy, and a very determined flirt. She hadn't broken too many hearts—well, Mickey seemed fine, anyway—and therefore figured it must be okay to at least _some_ degree to reel in some attention.

It was, therefore, extremely welcome when a very attractive male humanoid—Rose had taken to calling them that; after all, she now knew that not everything that looked especially human really was one—approached her to compliment her hair. Not the cleverest of pickup lines, she knew, but it was a compliment. For all her good points, Rose was, if her friends were to be believed, quite the 'attention whore.'

"Why thank you," she grinned, setting down the recently-emptied styrofoam-like bowl that once held her generous scoop of free vanilla ice cream. "Yours isn't so bad either."

That was true. His hair, was, actually, quite glorious—Rose did always have a thing for curly hair, though she rarely got the chance to date a man with the natural curls, and seemed to resent when men styled their hair any which way, so it's not like her straight-haired boyfriends could've used a curling iron.

The man was not much taller than Rose, but pleasantly built, with blonde surfer-type hair, long eyelashes, and a sprinkle of hair under his navel that point helpfully down towards what mattered—_'Why on earth am I thinking about that right now?'_

"Glad you think so. Well, I'm Keiel. Not to intrude, but, ehm, I've noticed you're sitting alone—my friends and I have a game of barlomew going on, if you'd like to join us." The blonde, who was clearly and questionably unconfident given his charming appearance, smiled down at Rose. She gave a tongue-in-cheek smirk to him. "I think I will," she responded quietly in her trademark, slick-smooth 'In case you didn't know, I'm flirting with you!' voice.

Keiel offered her a hand, which Rose gratefully took to help her stand up. She didn't really need it, but his hand was warm, and soft, and oh—he smelled _nice._

"What's your name?" he asked.

"I—Rose," she fumbled out. She cursed herself for the little stutter. How had her smoothness disappeared so quickly? Keiel, to be perfectly honest, wasn't really her type thus far—yes, he had curly hair, and sure, he was fit, but she wasn't overly fond of boring and unoriginal come-ons. Of course she'd take a compliment when she could get it, but there shouldn't have been a reason for her to feel so—physically interested.

"Downright lovely," replied the man. "I'm Keiel, and this—well, it's not a rose, but maybe it'll do for now." He handed Rose a purple flower—the bowing kind she had noticed before—picked right from the beach. It bloomed in roses hands, its petal rubbing gingerly against her palm. She almost dropped it—even after all she'd seen, a moving flower was pretty damn new to her. Or maybe the near-stumble was from the thick, warm heat pooling in her belly.

_"Don't go picking flowers, Rose," the Doctor chided her. Rose's hand halted, hovering just above a bright yellow, particularly large flower growing on the ground of Marce on planet Aeru._

_"But why?" she whined. "They're so pretty. We don't have many in the city; mum hasn't had a garden since I was a kid, and the air is shit."_

_"They won't always be what you expect," he said, taking her hand. "You might honestly kill them. There are creatures—hundreds of thousands of brilliant creatures that are so alive—that look like the flowers you're used to. Some are flowers too, but bitey little runts. This one here isn't even a flower." The Doctor knelt next to Rose and stroked a petal on the bright yellow flower-thing. It bowed into his hand, rubbing like a cat against a warm leg, and made some kind of mewing sound. Rose sat back in awe. "That's—amazing," she laughed out, following the Doctor's suit to pet the little creature. "I—well—can we at least have flowers on the ship? I know it's sort of stupid, but I really, really like them. I miss not seeing them, I do."_

_The Doctor just smiled at her._

By the time the Doctor reached the beach at which he had left a very scantily-clad Rose, he saw she was already canoodling with a very large group.

A very large group of boys. Of _course_ it was.

His steps sped up. His hearts were racing. He didn't know why.

He was practically running. A few people turned to stare at the obviously crazy man who wore an oddly-coloured business-type suit to the beach.

Rose seemed most focused on a too-tan boy with small eyes. They were half-heartedly playing barlomew, a Frisbee-type game first popularized on Seht, but it seemed to be a front for canoodling. The Doctor's lips tightened as he approached the group. The blonde boy's hand lingered on the small of Rose's back. She didn't notice the Doctor approach.

"Rose." He greeted sternly. He forced a smile, but it scarcely worked.

"Oh, hi!" Rose turned to greet him, breathless from running and laughter. She removed her arm from the blonde boy's arm. "This is Keiel—like Kyle, but Keiel, you know—I'm playing barlomew!" She smiled proudly at her obvious statement, seeming entirely like a child beaming about their own very bad drawing.

"Oh, hello," the Doctor turned to Keiel. He forced another smile, but felt his brow furrowing. "I'm the Doctor. Saver of galaxies." He turned to Rose. "We're going." Rose pouted.

"But why?"

"To do all those awesome things I suggested."

Rose groaned and rolled her eyes—typical city girl attitude, the Doctor thought—but honestly, she was quite glad he came back. Rose gave a quick goodbye hug to Keiel, who seemed dumbfounded at the encounter but overall too shy to complain, but let his gaze linger on Rose as she walked away with the Doctor towards her towel up the beach.

"I was just making friends," Rose continued to protest.

"Mmhmm." Said the Doctor. He stared unblinkingly at the sand in front of him while Rose ran ahead and picked up her towel.

In all honesty, the Doctor didn't know why he reacted to the situation the way he did. He had seen Rose flirt before. Tens of times. Hundreds, maybe. He was not a jealous man, he was not a controlling man, and he certainly wasn't a possessive man—'Must just be the stress from the cloister bell,' he decided. 'No other reason to-'"Wow."

The Doctor stopped walking before he hit Rose, who was bending over to pick up her towel, sunglasses, bowl, and assorted other girly things in perhaps the least ladylike and most provocative way she could have chosen. Her bathing suit bottoms had, at some point during her playtime, creeped up on her cheeks so that most of her bum was very, very intriguingly bare. And very, very, _extremelyrightnexttohiscrotch._

"Hm? Wow? What about—"Rose stood up, turned around, and managed to headbutt the Doctor's chin in the process. He reeled back with a start as she dropped her things again. "Oh, damn."

Facing him, Rose knelt down to re-gather her assortment of items. 'Better than bending over,' thought the Doctor. He soon thought better of it.

Rose, apparently grossly unaware of how close she was to his—erm—well, she was staring up at him, wide-eyed and questioning, her cheeks still rosy from the heat and barlomew game. The Doctor let out a hefty breath in jagged clusters.

_All of a sudden, Rose was up against him, one hand rubbing his cock over his pants, the other clenched around the back of his thigh, her eyes half-lidded, her mouth open and inviting. "God, I want this," she breathed. No, panted. "I want to please you, love. Then I want to fuck you."_

_Rose desperately unbuttoned his pants, pulling them down without the barest hint of hesitation. She grasped his length through his boxers, and his head hung back in a guttural moan. She kissed the tip, pressing her soft, thick lips against the thin fabric. Soon, the boxers were on the ground._

_She took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around the tip with a gleeful passion unbridled by the hundreds of beachgoers—potential onlookers. Before the Doctor could even process what was happening to him, Rose began touching herself, her fingers moving up and down against her bikini bottom. She moaned onto his cock, her fingers shoving the crotch of her bikini bottom to plunder inside her own wet need. "Doctor—I need… you, I need it. Fuck me. Please, I—"_

"Doctor. What? What's wow? Are you even paying attention?"

The Doctor snapped out of his stupor and realized that for some immeasurable amount of time, he had been simply staring through Rose, who was now standing ahead of him a few feet away, all her items securely held. She cocked her head at him. "Well?"

The Doctor's breath hitched in his throat, and he was suddenly very, very thankful for wearing uncomfortably restrictive underwear that morning. "I—oh. Sorry! I…" _'For god's sake, get a hold of yourself.' _"Let's go get some food!"


End file.
